Reworked
by AccidentalNaps
Summary: Someone ending up in the pages of a very popular book, but things aren't ever what they seem on paper. A lesson to be learned-other than not swearing violently at your elders? Perhaps, if only she had some form of mental filter. OOC-ish but canon pairings


_**I'm moving out of my comfort zone with this. But it was in my head so I thought I would give it my attention. I know its been done to death, but let me have a go too. :) People are a little OOC, but i'm only playing. They'll be the same as before when I'm done.  
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_**I own nothing. Gutted.**_

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The day had sucked epic proportions.

I stomped up the driveway, head bowed against the rain that was beating an unforgiving tattoo against my skull. The wind was icy, and as I scurried through the door out of the ridiculous storm, it slammed the door heavily behind me. I winced, and then attempted to squelch out of my sodden trainers. My bag was soaked, and, I realised with a painful sigh, that so would be the contents. I emptied it onto the table, and placed my notes and books onto the radiator, which made the house wonderfully warm.

"You're very late sweetheart." Came her voice before she joined me in the kitchen.

I nodded, and sat in the chair she offered for me.

We both knew why I was late, it was a very common occurrence, but for her to sit opposite me at the table like this was a bad sign, very bad.

"Yes, I got detention."

Her eyebrows were raised. "Again?"

"I know, right? It was so unjustified." It was always unjustified. They really seemed to hate me at school.

But my mother looked cynical. "What happened?"

I took a deep breath. She was going to get mad. "We had to do a book report, and I chose-"

"Twilight." My mother finished, in exasperation. "Fran, come on, its just one book. You can't write everything on that one book."

Now it was my turn for exasperation. "There is so much in that one book. It's not like I'm repeating myself, I did it on the proliferation of patriarchal values in the book."

"Fran, you need to broaden your horizons, think about your college applications, please."

"But I have broad horizons. Mr. Baxter told me to pick something, anything I was passionate about. He knows that I read everything I can see."

Her brow furrowed. "Mr Baxter gave you detention? He is the only teacher you haven't had a complaint from."

This was only going to get ugly. "After my presentation, Mr. Baxter asked the rest of the class if they had any questions. Mark asked if there was any reason that I was a vampire loving geek of nature."

There was no exclamation of sympathy for her poor, misunderstood bookworm of a daughter, she knew me far too well.

"So I asked him if his mother was so desperate that she had to pro create with a Neanderthal or whether he was the result of crack cocaine use during pregnancy." I bit my lip, yes, it had been harsh, and looking back, maybe not the most intelligent insult in front of my teacher, but Mark has always been a first prize idiot. It had felt good for all of three seconds, before Mr. Baxter went puce and sent me out of the class, threatening to fail me for the first time ever.

My mother looked mortified. "Francesca Ellis Moore! Never in all my life! I know you and that boy don't get on, and I know you have butted heads before, but in front of Mr Baxter! He is the only teacher that you remain on good terms with, and you didn't even attempt to restrain yourself!"

I exhaled heavily, and tried to drown it all out. She had never really got angry at me before; she knew that I was good in school but was really bad at biting my tongue. But she had always taught me to say what I thought so it was her own fault really.

"- and to think of all the times Mr Baxter has helped you out with extra credit assignments to make up for all your other detentions, you don't even have the respect for him to keep you mouth shut for once in your life!"

I looked at her, the rage on her face was twinned by the look on my own. "And that's my fault is it? That I speak my mind at every turn?"

She understood my implication; she had raised me like this, and she had been dealing with the consequences since.

"Frannie, I never meant for you to insult people so cruelly in front of you favourite teacher. I also taught you a little common sense, surely?"

"Mark deserved it; he's always going on at me. I'm sick of him trying to make me feel bad, and put me down every second of the day. So I decided to be brutal, maybe if he had his fingers burned he wouldn't be so quick to play with fire in future."

She shook her head at me. "I'm not saying that he needed taking down a peg or two, but not the way you did it. Now I have to face Mr Baxter." She exhaled and rubbed her eyes.

I huffed at her. "That's all you worry about, what the teachers think about you. Don't worry about me, and having to go through all this _shit_ just because I decided I wasn't going to let a spiteful little boy humiliate me in front of the entire class. I've had enough of all of them, going on at me all the time, because I have opinions that they can't quite respond to."

"So, like when you told your politics teacher that George Orwell was over-rated, and _1984_ was bonfire worthy?"

"-Is just as valid as those ridiculous Orwellian fans who claim him to be god amongst men and that book to be a work of genius. But the kids who said that weren't put in detention for it were they?"

"So this is all a case of 'poor misunderstood Frannie' is it?"

I scowled at her. "No, and you know it isn't. They are all trapped in their tiny little viewpoints and get offended when some tells them that something else exists."

She looked at me, "That's all that happened is it?"

I nodded.

And then came the sort of pause that come the nanosecond after an atomic bomb is detonated. The type of monumental silence that all life flees from. And I knew I had been busted.

"Because Mr. Baxter called me after your lesson, and told me what had happened, and he would be willing to forget it, if you hadn't told everyone in the class to 'go fuck themselves'."

I bit my lip. "Oh yea." Now it was time to be sheepish. And I was wearing the fleece.

"Francesca, you lied to me, _to my face_."

Now it was also time to be silent. I would have to ride this out. I had earned it.

"I cannot believe you would do this! Who on earth do you think you are!"

And so it began, and went on and on. I could take it until she started to claim that I was a thorn in her side, at which point I lied again, and told her that I would say it again if I had the chance, and told _her_ to go fuck herself. And then, in typical absurd teenage angst, rather than face all the f-words I had bandied about to people I really loved and respected, I stormed upstairs and slammed the door behind me. Oh dear.

I paced, and then put some music on, and paced some more. I had made a mess of everything. And the only practical solution I could see was to calm down, and then deal with it. So I lay down on the bed, and tried to relax, but the best way to do that was to read. I got through three chapters, before the book fell open onto my chest, and I was asleep.

*

I awoke with a gasp, and sat bolt upright. I couldn't place what had woke me, but I didn't like how it had happened. My heart was hammering in my chest, and it was disconcerting that I didn't know why. Usually this only happened when I thought a spider had run over my face in the night. My room felt cooler than it had when I lain down earlier, and my bed, was far less comfortable. In fact, it felt almost leafy. For some reason I didn't want to open my eyes, I knew the sight that would greet me when I did; the posters on the wall opposite my bed; the pile of books on my desk alongside half finished pictures, pages of scrawled notes; the dirty plates I was yet to take down from breakfast. And yet why was I so unsure of myself? Why couldn't open my eyes?

Because my window was closed, so why was there a breeze? And I did not own a cd that mildly resembled birdsong.

A sharply snapping twig had my eyes wide open and my heart in my mouth again. I desperately looked around for the source of the sound, praying it was a cat, or a little dog, or an obese butterfly- something I wouldn't have to defend myself against. In my fear I barely saw the forest around me, but after my initial panic had subsided, ebbing from my body and leaving in its place fairly abused internal organs, I looked around properly.

A forest.

I say that meaning that there were trees, for as far as I could see, and I was sitting on a muddy, but thankfully dry, floor. I was certain there were leaves in my hair, as they were all around me, and while it wasn't raining here, it was bitterly cold. I shivered and bent my knees, wrapping my arms around them. Just as I was deciding what to do about my curious situation, I heard something again; another snapping twig, and what could have been footsteps, if it was slower; nothing moved that fast on two legs. Some extra instinct told me to get up, and fear flooded my body again. I noted, as my stomach dropped that the birdsong was long gone. But I also knew that running would be futile. Whatever it was was getting closer, it was coming straight at me, but the sound it was making was close to being drowned out by my pounding heartbeat. The only movement I could make was to turn around as I heard the same noise behind me, but as though there were a number of whatever it was that was flying towards me. Time seemed to slow as finally around me there was movement. From within the depth of the trees in front of me came four figures. My breath was taken away by their near pearlescent skin, from which their beauty seemed to shine. Two women, one fair headed, one with short dark hair, and two men, again, one fair and the other with rumpled bronze hair. I could barely take my eyes from them, and could hardly hear the other presence behind me I was so transfixed by them. But then I was lifted with impossible ease, into arms that were not only as cold, but hard as stone. The grip was not gentle, I felt the breath push roughly out of my lungs and a sharp pain in my side, one arm crossed my chest and solid fingers pinched my shoulder. I felt like all my bones were to be crushed at any second. I knew if I could breathe, I would have been sick.

"Emmett!" came the blonde man's voice.

I felt a wave of overwhelming calm, to the point were I could have happily lost consciousness, although this could have been down to Emmett's bear like grip.

The thought jolted me out of my complacent serenity, and then I felt his breath on my neck. Something was passing over my head. Something that my adrenaline addled brain was missing. Something that it shouldn't be missing.

"Emmett!" The blonde woman moved forward. "Put her down baby." Her amber eyes flashed at the man holding onto me like a fat kid with cake.

Emmett gave an animalistic roar which reverberated through my chest and as I fell to the floor, limp as a ragdoll, the impact seemed to jolt something from my memory, as though from a past life. Flashes, incoherent shards of memory were coming to the forefront of my mind. Emmett, bears, Rosalie, Alice, bloodlust, liquid topaz, visions, vampire. Twilight.

"Sweet Jesus." I whispered aloud against my will.

I looked up. Alice was stood close by, watching me carefully. Edward watching me even closer.

I sat up, pulling my legs out from under me, and winced at the pain in my side.

"I thought only Jasper had bloodlust issues." Again, I had not intended to say this out loud.

Jasper snapped his neck to look at me, as Rosalie and Emmett crashed out of the clearing, to make sure I didn't end up as dinner for the poor vegetarian.

"What does that mean? How does she know my name?" Jasper asked, looking at his siblings for some form of clarification.

"I'm not sure." Edward said softly.

"Oh, wait, unless we're a bit before Forks." I said to myself, apparently I had no mental filter, I would be saying everything aloud for the time being. "How far along are we, timeline wise I mean? Say, with you and Bella?" I locked eyes with him.

Edward looked like he would spit fire just to burn me to ash. "How do you know about Bella, who are you?" He seethed.

Alice and Jasper were stood on either side of Edward, looking at me like I was a bomb about to explode.

"She's not afraid." Jasper said, uncertain of what to make of me.

"We are getting married in a few weeks." Edward said slowly.

I nodded, "Okay, so all the unpleasantness of Italy, and Victoria is all dealt with?"

"How do you know this?" Jasper asked, his eyes narrowing threateningly at me.

"I'm vaguely hoping this is a dream for all of its ridiculousness." I said, pushing myself to my feet with difficultly because of the pain.

"I think he cracked her ribs." Edward muttered. "We need to take her to Carlisle."

Alice nodded, moving forward and putting an arm across my shoulders to support me.

"Were you sent by the Volturi?" Edward said quietly, but with so much rage I could feel it rolling off of him.

My eyes widened. "God no!" I shuddered. "Not that papery faced old man and his little ring of sycophantic followers. No chance."

Jasper took hold of my other arm, his grip less than friendly. "But you know about the Volturi." He stated. "How?"

I closed my eyes for a second, wondering how best it would be to go about explaining this. I looked down at my feet, and saw, where I had awoken, the book. My copy of _Twilight_. I breathed a huge sigh of relief and bent to pick it up, forgetting about my delicate ribcage. The pain was too much for me at once, and I dropped to the floor, lost to the self preserving darkness of unconsciousness.

**

Emmett finally dropped the girl to the floor when Rosalie approached him. There was a collective sigh of relief, until two things happened; Alice was still looking at the girl like she was a liability- there was more to the vision, and the girl's mind was proving very disconcerting reading.

There was nothing but flashes of our faces, and then Volterra, and then it was lost into incoherence. One thought stood out from the others, and the second she thought it, her heart rate quickened rapidly. It was meaningless to me, but I didn't like the confidence it gave her.

Then it became clear she knew us, all of us, what we had done in the past three years, and I felt physically sick. And while she didn't imagine it exactly as it had occurred, she was close enough for me to be uncomfortable about it.

_We have to get her to Carlisle._

Alice's thoughts rang clear through my mind, and I nodded. Jasper stepped towards to take hold of her arm, but she saw something on the floor. Again, that one thought. She bent to reach for it, seemingly forgetting about her ribs, and collapsed from the pain. Jasper sighed. "That makes that easier." He grumbled, pulling her gently – what thought was gently- onto his shoulder.

I cringed, knowing exactly the bruise she would have from where his hand gripped her side.

"Pretend she's made of play-dough, Jas." I told him.

He snorted, looking at the limp form across his shoulder. "Play-dough? Kinky." He smirked, but loosened his grip as Alice took his hand. They set off back towards the house, and I paused, bending to retrieve what had so excited the girl's interest. Slightly obscured by leaves was a tattered notebook, with a crudely drawn illustration on the cover, as though done by a child, what looked like an apple, with wings. I could barely work it out. I flicked through it, but the pages, though well thumbed, were completely bare. I shrugged, and slotted it into my back pocket. Maybe Carlisle would know what _Twilight_ implied.


End file.
